


watch and be watched

by jestbee



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kink Exploration, M/M, Mirror Sex, Outdoor Sex, Public Sex, Voyeurism, inspired by a tweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestbee/pseuds/jestbee
Summary: There is something inherently intimate about watching, about being watched.





	watch and be watched

**Author's Note:**

> Phil tweeted about having a mirror on their balcony and then everyone peer pressured me to write this. 
> 
> Happy V day to all of your crazy people, ily all
> 
> Thank you to @intoapuddle for the beta work <3

There is something inherently intimate about watching, about being watched. It's not something he spends much time thinking about, surprisingly, given his job, but in moments like this he can't help but fixate on that very thing.

He supposes it must be the fact that professionally, on a regular day, it's him that creates the image, tailors and edit and controls what is seen of him. At least, usually. But having some of his early yet fairly substantial sexual encounters across a webcam, watching Phil's eyes trained on every minute detail, tracking back and forth, is enough make the idea of exposure, of being seen, a wicked combination of thrill and fear. 

There is a breeze that ruffles his hair, chills his bare skin, and the scent of blossoms drifts past. Goosebumps rise on his arms, the wind tickling at the nape of his neck, and his eyes flutter shut.

"Keep your eyes open," Phil says, in his ear. "Watch."

He meets his own gaze in the reflection, noting the flush in his cheeks, his lips parted. From this angle, he can't see anything else beyond the top of his own torso, and though he can't see the way Phil's hands are on him, the slick slide of a palm that is just the right side of rough, there is no denying that he looks just as wrecked as he is. 

There is a flutter of wings in the sky over their heads, the rumble of cars from below them, the world still carrying on, none the wiser to the their world up here, nestled in the comfort of their balcony. Hidden, for all intents and purposes, but Dan can't help feeling exposed, that any minute someone might be able to see them. See _him_.

He shivers again, and Phil's hand slows. 

"Can you see?" Phil says, "Are you watching?" 

He is watching. He's watching his own eyes, pupils blown, the way his body shifts in time with Phil's. 

It had been Phil's idea, all of this, or at least today it was. Today, when he'd taken Dan by the hand, fresh from the shower, skin pinked and soft, and led him out here. They'd paused on the threshold, the beams of warm, bright sunlight in Dan's eyes.

"Is this okay?" Phil had said. 

The light played in his eyes, sparking blue and green, the barest hint of yellow, familiar colours in a familiar pattern, and Dan had nodded. Trusting, always, to the whims of the ridiculous man he loves. 

Today it had been Phil's idea, but over a year ago, when their living room was still full of boxes, and they'd opened the balcony door to let cold air rush over their heated, over-exerted bodies, it might have been Dan's. 

"Who has a mirror outside?" Phil had said. 

"Landlord was into some kinky shit," Dan had said, the joke an easy one, the accompanying wink basically an afterthought. 

He hadn't really expected that to spark a thought, a chain reaction of images in his head, but it had. Ones he might have kept to himself, really. But Phil knows him, Phil has seen everything, and so he only had to smirk, to cock his head just a fraction, and Dan had felt a blush creep into his cheeks. 

"Shut up," Dan had said, to Phil's silence. 

But the idea was already there. Planted, simmering away on the back burners, until a sunlight afternoon in mid-april, with their cherry blossom tree swaying in a gentle breeze, Phil had led him by the hand out into the centre of their private terrace. 

"I can see," Dan says, and Phil's hands disappear. 

In his reflection, Phil makes his way around behind him, so that Dan can see the contrast of Phil's pale fingers, trailing a path along his collarbone. He dips his head, presses warm dry lips to the back of Dan's neck, his hair tickling the skin as it flops forward. 

"Can you see me too?" Phil asks in his ear. 

Dan hums, because he can. He can see them both, two figures pressed close together. But more importantly, he can feel where they are touching, Phil's hands sliding down his sides, fingers curling over his hip bones, over the elastic waistband of his boxers, the only clothing he'd been wearing upon exiting the bathroom. He can feel a stiff, pressing hardness against his ass, the way it is constricted by the thick denim of Phil's jeans. Phil wants him, Phil has his hands all over him, as if presenting him, like a prize, like something precious to be displayed. 

He has thought about this before. In furtive, secret thoughts, kept diligently inside his head, he has wondered. What it might be like to peel back everything he's built, to become exposed and vulnerable. It is a wash of hot shame as he remembers, now, the way his hands sometimes worked at his cock, his head full of what it might be like to be seen, for people to _know_ what he hasn't permitted them to.

The journey to this point, to Phil sliding his hands back into Dan's underwear in the middle of their balcony, hasn't been a fast one. A raised eyebrow at an off-hand comment when they moved in had only been the starting point. 

Some months later, when Dan closed the lid on a joint liveshow and the room still rang with the echo of their animated goodbyes, Phil had dropped to his knees beside the couch and had been tugging at Dan's waistband before he'd even had a chance to cast his laptop aside. 

"What's got you all riled up?" Dan had said. 

Phil had continued tugging, Dan's rapidly growing erection exposed to the cool air of the room, and then wrapped in Phil's giant palm, fitting into it the way it always did. He squeezed, just as Dan likes, and looked him dead in the eyes. 

"Thinking about what would happen if I did this without turning the camera off," Phil had said. 

Dan doesn't know, even to this day, if it was the brazen way he said it, or the particular fantasy, but with a quick glance to make sure his laptop was indeed powered down, he'd moaned shamelessly and spread his legs for Phil's eager mouth to get to work with whatever it was he imagined showing them. 

It felt like being out of control, just slightly, like eyes were on him, his secrets exposed. It was shame, and fear, and arousal, all wrapped up in to one, and Dan had come harder than he had in awhile. 

This moment, out here under a blue sky dotted with clouds, is yet another step, another layer ripped away. Phil's whispers about distant, imaginary eyes looking at him are nothing compared to the real and present possibility of being caught out here. 

Phil slides his hand over the slippery head of Dan's cock and runs his tongue up the side of his neck, teeth grazing. Dan's knees feel weak, his heart is hammering in his chest, and his eyes look wild and round as he looks at himself in that mirror. 

"They're all watching you," Phil says, "and who can blame them."

There is no one watching, not really. Dan knows this, in a logical rational way still present in his brain he knows that they can't be seen here. This is, for all intents and purposes, a controlled environment, one they can be like this in without a real threat of anything at all. Outside of that rationality though, in the animalistic, empassioned part of his brain, drenched in a string of _yes_ and _now_ and _oh god_ , he is laid bare before the world. Stripped to the bone, his innermost self exposed.

And he likes it. 

He keens under Phil's hands, shifts his hips so that he pushes his cock into the tight ring of Phil's expert fingers, and then grinds his hips back onto the press of Phil's own hard arousal. Phil's breath comes like a low groan in his ear, the whisper of hot air skimming the sensitive skin of his neck, and Dan knows Phil is enjoying this just as much as him. 

He risks a glance down, to see Phil's hand shifting inside his underwear. A dark patch of wet has spread across the front, pre-cum drenching the fabric, sticky and clinging to the bumps and ridges of their flesh underneath. It is hot, and sweaty, and Dan wonders what it would be like to have the blossom-scented breeze on his cock. 

"Take it out," Dan says, his voice gravel, wrecked. 

"Yeah." Phil nods, his hair brushing Dan's ear. His spare hand tugs at the elastic eagerly, pulling his boxers down to mid thigh. 

The effect is the illusion of constriction. The elastic stretched around his skin, pressing a ridge into the muscle of his thighs, trapped together so that now he is hard and aching, exposed to the world, and he feels as if he can't escape it. 

It is but an illusion. Dan would only need to make the mere suggestion of stopping and Phil would have him back safe in the house before he even had time to think, but Dan likes that he doesn't have to be in control here. He doesn't have to think about whether he _should_ want this, because Phil is giving it to him. Leading him by the hand, whispering instructions in his ear, and all Dan need do is follow. 

"Eyes up," Phil reminds him, and Dan pulls his gaze back to the mirror. 

It isn't his own face he's watching this time, it's Phil's. For as exposed as Dan is, for as stripped back and obvious he looks, bare skin and brazen blushes, Phil is only just started to break. He has more control than people give him credit for. For Phil, if there is a notion he wants kept secret, he locks it down tight, telling only what and when he wants with very little leeway allowed. Dan's abandon, the way he has given himself up to Phil in this moment, is clear in his wild eyes and parted mouth, for Phil, the only tell he has to indicate how much he too is enjoying this, is in the ruffle in his hair, the pitch of his voice. 

And yet, Dan sees him. 

Dan knows Phil, he reads him just as easily as words on a page. He is sentences loving written in well known handwriting. The way his hands move frantically, fingers pressed firmly to the skin on Dan's hip, his other hand squeezing around Dan's cock in the perfect way he always does, the way his hips move of their own accord, the stutter of his breath. These are things Dan knows, these are the things that he sees. 

"You're so—" Phil says,words choked to a stop, and Dan doesn't make him finished the sentence. 

Sometimes Phil's praise makes him feel more exposed than being completely naked. Sometimes, Phil reaches for these things, and he means them, but it's too much for Dan to hear, too much to try to believe. 

Dan pushes his hips back, skin rubbing against rough denim, knowing he is already scratched pink by the contact. 

"Yeah," Phil says, "Yeah yeah." 

"Come on," Dan nods, and reaches a hand backwards. 

Together, Phil still with one hand on Dan's cock, and the other on his zipper, they manage to get Phil's jeans open, his cock out. Dan runs his finger along it, lightly. Feeling the hard, warm flesh, the bead of pre-cum at the tip. The throb of a thick, heavy vein, He knows this bit of Phil, as he knows all of him, in the dark, without looking, he knows. 

Phil growls through his teeth, pushing at Dan so that he can do nothing but step forward, towards the uneven texture of the white wall, his face up close to the mirror. 

He braces his hands, Phil pulling at him, arranging his limbs, ass out, back arched. He runs a reverent hand over the globe of Dan's ass and sinks his fingers into the crease of it. 

"You're so fucking hot," Phil says. 

Phil's eyes meet Dan's in the reflection, and everything else fades away. Phil crowds him up close, Dan's chest pressed to the gritty surface, cement scratching at his skin, stinging and delicious. He presses himself the full length of Dan's body, the hard line of his cock slipping into the slippy crease of Dan's ass, rubbing against his hole but not penetrating him. 

It's the most they can do. Dan doesn't have enough restraint in him to last through the prep, and with the way Phil is already thrusting, sliding his length against the feverish grip of Dan's body, neither does he. 

It reminds Dan of being young, too far gone and too desperate to do much more than move their bodies together in whatever way they fit. Skin on skin, sweat on sweat, hands and mouths and the insistent throb of _more more more_. 

Phil's mouth slides on the back of his neck. It isn't a kiss, uncoordinated, the mere smear of his mouth, wet and hungry. But Dan arches into it, knocking Phil off balance so that he's pitched forward, hands falling over Dan's on the wall. 

He slots their fingers together, Phil gripping on tight as he undulates his body against Dan's. 

It isn't enough. Dan needs more, he needs to get lost in this, the whole world, watching or not, sliding away so that its just them. Dan watching Phil, Phil watching Dan. 

"Hey," Dan says, snapping his eyes up to the mirror once again, "look at me." 

Phil does look at him, his face over Dan's shoulder, hot skin against hot skin. Phil is still basically clothed, and Dan is still basically not, and there is something hot about that contrast. Phil hiding, Dan bared to the world, to Phil. 

Dan guides one of Phil's hands down to his aching cock. Their twined fingers wrapping around his length and tugging, and Dan rolls his hips in time with Phils. They both moan, revelling and pausing for a minute at how good it feel, how in sync it all is. 

They're still outside, this thing they're doing is still happening, but it doesn't seem as important as Phil's hands touching him, as Dan pushing back on Phil to feel his rock solid and sliding with sweat between his legs. 

Dan looks into Phil's blown eyes, his pink cheeks, parted lips. Phil is wrecked too, now. They match, both as gone as each other and the knowledge of that, that they're always in this together, is enough to send Dan barrelling towards release. 

"Fuck, Phil I'm gunna—" 

"Yeah," Phil says, "Yeah Yeah. Me too." 

Phil can't ever string a sentence together properly when he's this close to the edge, and Dan angles his hips, clenches his thigh a little around the head of Phil's cock, giving him a tight, warm space to push into over and over. 

His chest is pushed into the wall, unforgiving and rough, and Phil's eyes don't leave his in the mirror. Dan can smell the musky scent of their combined sweat, the subtle hint of cherry blossoms on the wind that chills his skin, and he bites his own lip as pleasure coils in his stomach. 

"Ah-Ah—" 

Dan loses sight of Phil's eyes as he comes, dropping his head back onto Phil's shoulder and feeling the hot spurt of his release over their joined fists. He arches his back, pushing his ass out so that Phil can rut against him, and soon Phil is coming too. The wet spread of Phil's orgasm floods between Dan's legs and he feels coated, filthy, displayed and marked with the evidence of what just happened. 

Of what the whole world is privy to. 

Dan drops his head forward again, his sweaty forehead coming to rest on the cool surface of the mirror. 

"Hey," Phil says, stepping away and placing a hand flat on the space between Dan's shoulder blades. "You alright?" 

"M'good," Dan slurs, lethargic and fucked out. 

It's isn't the exertion, though he's physically tired as well, it's just how wrung out and stripped he feel, down to more than his bare skin. Down as far as he can go, layers and layers of pretense all but gone. 

Phil hums, and Dan can hear the jingle of his zipper as he pulls his jeans back on. 

"Should we go back inside?" Phil says. 

Dan is suddenly aware of how cold he is, shivering slightly as he pushes himself away from the wall. 

"Okay."

Phil looks at him. There is no reflection now, just blue eyes meeting brown with nothing between them, and Phil pulls him closer, running warm hands over his shoulders, up his neck, cupping his jaw. 

"You're amazing," he says.

"Am I?" 

"Yes," Phil confirms, leaning in to kiss him soundly. "I love you."

"Love you too," Dan says as they part. 

Dan pulls his boxers back over his soiled skin and Phil takes his hand, leading him back indoors, Dan content to follow just as he was when he came out here. 

They shower together, Phil washing the evidence of their actions from Dan's skin with gentle, practised movements. He takes care of Dan, treating as thought he's precious, his own to keep safe. 

"You know," Dan says, leaning his head back to rinse suds from his hair, "It's all just… I wouldn't really want to share… that… with anyone." 

Phil's hair is slicked back against his scalp, water dripping from the end of his nose, droplets running down the flat planes of his chest, down into the V of his hips, landing in the thick dark curls of his public hair. 

He's beautiful. Dan doesn't want anyone else to see that but him. 

"It was hot," Dan continues, "feeling like someone might be watching… but I don't—"

"Dan," Phil says, "I know. Don't worry. I find it hot too, the idea of it, but in practise…" 

"Yeah."

"I don't want anyone to see you, not the way I see you. But I do want you to see yourself the way I see you."

Dan doesn't know what to say. He blinks the warm water out of his eyes and kisses the bare skin of Phil's shoulder. 

"It's just you and me," Phil says, after a while, "Always. People see what we want them to. Nothing else." 

Dan nods solemnly, feeling like there could be a bigger conversation about what that is, about what it is he might want people to see, someday, but it can wait until later. For now, he's content to have this, to wash Phil's body in soapy circles, and then tuck themselves under soft sheets and hold each other close. 

"Just you and me," Dan says, breathing into the back of Phil's neck, an arm snaked around his waist. "See?"

Phil turns his head, kisses him softly, and takes one last look.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe [reblog on Tumblr?](http://agingphangirl.tumblr.com/post/182809096252/watch-and-be-watched)


End file.
